With a sigh he pressed one of three white buttons under the ledge of the table. "You will forgive my handing you over to a servant. Caw will see you to your car. Farewell, Lancaster; my regards to your wife, my love to Doris. Farewell, Bullard; yet there are better things even than diamonds."
The door was opened. A middle-aged man in black, with clean shaven ascetic face, and hair the colour of rust, and of remarkably wiry bodily appearance stood at attention.
There was something in Christopher's sad smile that forbade further words, and the visitors departed. Lancaster's countenance working, Bullard's a mask.
The door was shut noiselessly. Christopher's hand fell clenched on the green box. His pallid lips moved.
"Traitors, hypocrites, money maniacs! Verily, they shall have their reward!" He reopened the box, took out all the five trays, and gazed awhile at the massed brilliance. And his smile was exceeding grim.
CHAPTER II
Within a few minutes the servant returned.
"The gentlemen have gone, sir, and Monsoor Guidet is ready," he said, then looked hard at his master.
The master appeared to rouse himself. "Tell Guidet to go ahead. He'll require your assistance, I expect. Stay!" He pointed to the diamonds. "Put them in the box, Caw."
The man restored the glittering trays to their places with as much emotion as if they had contained samples of bird-seed. When he had let down the lid—